The Lie
by Rainey13
Summary: As a rule, Neal doesn't lie to Peter. But every rule has its exceptions - including this one.


It was the day that simply would _not_ end.

Maybe it was the gray, rainy weather that made everything seem dismal and, well, _gray_. Maybe it was the unseasonably cool weather they'd been having; especially combined with the rain, it had people scrambling for outerwear generally more suited to March in New York, and not late May. Maybe it was the budget sessions that had Hughes, Peter, and a number of the senior agents from other divisions running around with frowns and calculators. Maybe it was the absence of Jones and Diana, who were in court testifying about a case from three months earlier.

Maybe it was the stupid mortgage fraud files, all of which were starting to look exactly the same…

Neal sighed, pushing the latest file away from him and taking a moment to rub his eyes. Somehow, when he'd first come up with the crazy idea to get out of prison by working for the FBI, he had not anticipated the long, dreary periods filled with nothing but _paperwork._ Not that he'd say anything, of course; Peter would simply ask if he'd prefer to stare at prison bars.

_At the moment, that choice was closer to a toss-up than usual…_

He looked down at the clock icon on his monitor, somewhat dismayed to find out that it was barely past eleven o'clock. That just didn't seem right, or fair, or even _possible._

_Maybe the FBI's tech department had re-set the computer clocks…_

Well, then they must have somehow accessed his cell phone too, because it showed the same time.

Neal picked up his coffee mug, considering a trip over to the break area for a refill. It seemed like he'd already done that several times, and still he could barely keep his eyes open. And the sludge that passed for office coffee was probably eating away at his stomach even as he thought about it. Unfortunately, a quick glance out the window confirmed that the rain was falling even heavier than the last time he had looked, which didn't make a trip to the gourmet coffee shop down the block seem very appealing. Of course, the cute barista, Annie, was usually on this shift…

His cell phone buzzed just then, interrupting his thoughts. And the identity of the caller was definitely something of a surprise.

"Hi, Elizabeth."

'_Hey, Neal. How's it going?'_

"You just saved me from going for another cup of what is laughingly called coffee around here."

'_Well, glad I could help.'_

"I think Peter's still in one of the budget meetings if you were trying to reach him. Did you need me to get a message to him?"

'_No, I wanted to talk to you.'_

"Really?"

'_Yes, really. Any chance you can get away and meet me at Grotta Azzurra?'_

Neal had to take a moment before answering. "Ummm, you're calling to ask _me_ out to lunch?" _And her answering laugh was a little unsettling…_

'_Well, I do have a meeting later at Grotta to discuss some catering. But there's something I'd like to talk to you about.'_

A quick check of his memory turned up nothing – recently – to be worried about. "All right. When?"

'_I have a reservation at noon. Can you make that?'_

"Well, Peter should be…"

'_Neal, Peter can't know about this.'_

That was probably when he should have backed away, refused, distanced himself. That would have been the safe play. But now he was intrigued. "Mum's the word."

'_Thanks, Neal. I'll see you soon.'_

* * *

He arrived first, eight minutes before noon, and was ushered past the mural of the titular Blue Grotto to a table in the main room. Ice water and breadsticks appeared as if by magic, and Neal took a moment to peruse the wine list. Even Peter had been known to go for a mug of beer or a glass of wine on occasion at lunch, so he didn't think it would be a problem.

_And just in case he really __had__ done something, and that's why Elizabeth had called, wine might help…_

He ordered a bottle of an Italian merlot, picked up a breadstick to nibble on, and leaned back, looking around. This was one of the most popular places in Little Italy, so it was no wonder that the room was almost full just minutes before noon. There were a few casually-dressed people in the room, probably tourists from their demeanor, but most were dressed in the standard uniform of an office worker.

The server materialized with the bottle of wine, pulling the cork with an experienced flick of her wrist. Neal took a moment to swirl the sample in his glass, appreciating the deep, rich red. He sniffed, sipped, and nodded his approval. "Thank you so much," he said as she filled his glass, offering a full-wattage smile.

The server returned the smile, blushing just a little. "Would you like to order something to start?"

Neal nodded over her shoulder. "My lunch date has just arrived. We'll wait a few minutes."

The server moved away, and Neal stood. Elizabeth was smiling as she walked toward him, which made him feel better. _He really __hadn't__ done anything – recently – that he could think of…_

She met him with a quick hug and he pulled out her chair, seating her with a flourish. "Wow, so formal," Elizabeth said, laughing.

"No more than your due, m'lady."

"Oh, we need to do this again with Peter. He could take some notes."

Neal grinned and reached over to pick up the bottle of wine. "Yeah, somehow I don't see that working too well. Merlot?"

Elizabeth slid her glass over. "Please."

Neal poured, and they spent a few minutes looking over the menu, exchanging a few ideas. In the end they ordered bruschetta and a Caprese salad to share, and the _prix-fixe_ lunch special with a combination of pasta and entrée selections.

When the server walked away after taking their order, Neal sipped at his wine and then set his glass aside. "So, what did I do to earn the lunch invite?"

"Well, it's actually what I _want_ you to do. You know Peter's birthday is in a couple of weeks."

"Sure. You need my help finding a gift?"

"Not exactly." Elizabeth reached into her purse and pulled something out, sliding it across the table.

Neal picked up the flyer, reading the header. "Live your every sports fantasy?"

"Yeah, well, that may be a little bit of an overstatement. But it's got bowling, billiards, foosball – all sorts of games."

"And you're taking Peter here for his birthday?"

"Planning his party there, yes… a surprise party."

Neal raised an eyebrow at that. "You know Peter hates surprise parties."

"He's never had a party like this before."

_Well, that might be true… but not necessarily a convincing argument._ "Are you sure he wouldn't just prefer a quiet dinner with you? Maybe somewhere like here."

"That's been the fallback for his last few birthdays. I want to do something special for him this year."

"And you're _sure_ that a surprise party is the best plan?"

"Neal, Peter may _say_ he doesn't like surprise parties, but I know he'll love this place. I've already made arrangements for his parents to come in. His brother and youngest sister will be here too. And a couple of his buddies from Quantico are going to be in town, so the timing is perfect."

"So… you need me to slip invitations to people at the office?"

"No, the invitations are taken care of. Reese is handling that for me."

_She even had Hughes conspiring on this?_ "You want me to help set up tables or something?"

"Oh, the venue takes care of that."

"Did you want me to have The Greatest Cake provide the birthday cake?"

"I think that would be fantastic, but it wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about."

That feeling that he should bail now, maybe run all the way back to the federal building in the pouring rain, was tapping him on the shoulder; no, actually it was fairly pounding him over the head. Only the fact that it was _Elizabeth_ at the table with him kept him in place. "What, exactly, is it that you want my help with then?"

Her smile almost sent him bolting anyway. "I want you to get Peter there."

He stared at her for a long moment. "But it's a surprise party."

"Yes, it is."

"So I can't tell him _why_ he should go somewhere."

"That would kind of ruin the surprise part."

"You want me to… lie. To Peter."

Now her smile was smaller, almost patronizing. "Neal, you have been known to lie now and then."

"Not to Peter." _Something he was rather proud of, because it certainly hadn't always been easy…_

"Well, I'm sure you can find a way to just leave certain bits of pertinent information out then."

_Ah, there it was. He technically hadn't lied to Peter about the treasure… but he had certainly left some things out, and Elizabeth had paid a heavy price for that. And he was hooked. _"All right, I'll find a way to get him there. When is this party?"

Her smile was more genuine again as she slid a copy of the invitation across the table. "It's the Saturday before his birthday. I've already told him I have an event that day, so hopefully he won't expect anything."

"And you _do_ have an event – Peter's."

"Exactly."

_Exactly._

_And now he had a little over two weeks to come up with a similar non-lie…_

* * *

The two weeks flew by. As luck would have it, they caught a couple of big cases that had the entire white collar team working long hours all over the city.

Normally, that would have seemed like good news to Neal. Instead of facing yawn-inducing paperwork, he loved being out on the street. But with several times where he had to make undercover meets, tasks that required his full concentration, there was less time to think about the party.

Less time to figure out how to accomplish his assigned task.

Well, he did manage to call Billy, his head baker at The Greatest Cake, and put in a request for a special sports-themed cake. Billy had a real talent for things like that, so Neal knew the assignment was in good hands.

But his own personal assignment was a different question.

One night, when they actually knocked off before ten o'clock, he decided to check out this sports fantasy venue. From the address, it appeared to be in a converted warehouse area – an area very close to the edge of his radius. And if it turned out that the place was outside his radius, that might give him an out. Elizabeth couldn't really expect him to get Peter somewhere that he couldn't actually _go_…

Alas, it turned out that his radius ended about thirty feet the _other_ side of the building.

He couldn't even really hope that one of the cases would heat up and they'd wind up having to work. Elizabeth had put way too much work into this event, and her cheery texts apprising him of new guests and details made him feel guilty for even entertaining the thought of not getting Peter there.

Jones, Diana, and even Hughes managed to get him alone at times, asking if everything was set to get Peter there. Neal assured them, with all the outward confidence he could muster, that he had it handled. Peter would be there for his party as planned.

And really, this shouldn't be so hard. He had conned the wealthy out of stocks, bonds, jewels, money, and other, more personal, rewards the world over. He had helped Peter's team to their ninety-four percent conviction rate by drawing suspects into his confidence. He was _Neal Caffrey_, the man with the silver tongue.

But he could _lie_ to them… Well, officially he could tell the suspects the approved cover story which, in fact, amounted to a lie.

And the night before the party, as he stumbled home after midnight following the successful wrap of their latest case, he still didn't know how he was going to get Peter to the party.

* * *

Saturday morning came all too quickly as far as Neal was concerned. He tried to do normal things, like taking a shower and brewing his customary Italian roast coffee. But none of that changed the fact that time was fairly flying by toward when he had to get Peter to the party.

_Why couldn't time move like that when he was staring at mortgage fraud files?_

Finally, with only the vaguest of plans starting to form, he headed downstairs. June was out of town, but she had left him the keys to the Bentley – and permission to use the car if he wanted to. Since he very rarely drove, maybe showing up with a car would be enough to keep Peter off balance just enough so he wouldn't analyze Neal's story too closely.

At least, that was the hope.

Sticking carefully to the route he knew was approved for him to Brooklyn, Neal navigated his way across the East River, toward the Fort Greene area, and down to DeKalb Avenue. He found an open parking space just a couple houses down from the Burke residence, pulled in, and then sat there, holding the steering wheel in a death grip.

A few deep breaths – and a quick look at the time – and he finally got out of the car and made his way up to the front door of the house.

He could hear Satchmo woofing on the other side of the door almost as soon as he knocked, but it took a while before the door actually opened…

Peter barely looked like, well, _Peter. _He was drenched in perspiration, dressed in a ragged t-shirt that was wet and plastered to his skin. Baggy fleece shorts completed his attire, and he was wielding an oversized wrench of some sort.

And he didn't look happy to be interrupted – whatever it was he was doing. "Neal, you do realize what day it is, right?"

Neal knew that Peter probably meant that as a rhetorical question, but he couldn't quite resist. "It's Saturday, Peter."

Peter's glower seemed to intensify. "Why yes, yes it is," he said, and the sarcasm seemed to drip off of his words – almost like the drop of sweat that was teetering on Peter's nose. "That's my no-Neal day."

The sweat drop held Neal's attention for a moment, but then he pulled himself back to the task at hand. "Peter, it's almost like you're not happy to see me."

"Your deductive capabilities are improving. Must be the FBI influence. Now what do you want, Neal?"

Neal cleared his throat and launched into his spiel. "All right, you know the Pickering case? The one with the forged deeds."

"I am familiar with my own cases."

"Right. Well, the missing accountant, Morrie Lewis? I think I have a lead on where he's hanging out."

Peter finally looked interested. "Where?"

"There's a converted warehouse, reputed to be hosting some high stakes gambling."

Peter looked down at the wrench, obviously debating. "We can check it out on Monday."

_In for a penny, in for a pound…_ "Rumor has it he's there now, Peter. He might be gone any time now. I've got someone watching the place…"

"Mozzie?"

Neal just shrugged; no sense bringing Mozzie into the lie by name. "Let's just check it out. A quick look, and if he's there, we can set up surveillance."

Peter sighed and finally nodded. "All right, I'll get my keys."

_Wait, Peter was going to go like __that__?_ "Ummmm… you're going to go like _that_?"

Peter looked down at his attire and shrugged. "We're just going to look, right? He doesn't know you. You can go inside, and I'll wait in the car."

"But… you're all sweaty."

That got another shrug. "As long as my hands are dry I can drive."

"No! I mean, I was going to drive."

"Drive what? Don't tell me you bought a car."

"No, it's June's car."

"Neal…"

"I have permission, Peter. But you're not getting in June's car like _that_."

The look Peter gave him was the standard _'Neal, what are you up to'_ look. "Then we'll take my car."

"Peter, we always take your car. Let's shake things up a little. Besides, have you _ridden_ in a Bentley?" The slight wistful look on Peter's face made Neal push forward quickly. "Sheer luxury – and it'll get us a good table for lunch later when we pull up in style."

Peter finally sighed and nodded. "All right. Give me ten minutes to shower and change. Oh, take Satch for a turn outside while you're waiting."

Neal watched as Peter headed up the stairs, and then finally let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He crouched down to give Satchmo some attention, waiting until his hands quit shaking until he found the leash and the clean-up bags and headed outside.

* * *

As planned, Neal had parked near the back entrance – where the door didn't advertise what was inside. He went in, confirmed with Elizabeth that everything was ready, and stalled a bit on his way back out, just enough to make it seem like he had been checking out an underground gambling den.

So far, things had gone well… reasonably well, anyway, considering. But considering that he was in uncharted territory trying to keep this lie going with Peter, it definitely wasn't time to get too comfortable.

Finally, he pushed the door open and strolled casually across the empty lot toward the street.

The Bentley looked horribly out of place in this neighborhood but, fortunately, Peter was still sitting in the passenger seat as he approached.

"Well, is Lewis in there?"

Neal nodded. "I think you need to come check this out."

"Do I need to call for back-up?"

_Well, considering that the whole back-up team was already inside…_ Neal shook his head. "No, I don't see anything that means trouble like that. Quiet and low-key is better."

Fortunately, Peter seemed to accept that. He nodded and got out of the car. "All right, let's go."

Neal held up a cautionary hand. "The holster kind of ruins the whole quiet and low-key thing." He pointed at the bulge clearly showing under the lightweight blazer Peter had thrown on over his t-shirt and jeans.

Peter shrugged out of the jacket, handing it to Neal to hold. "I guess there's some truth to that," he agreed, pulling the harness off. "But I'm not going in unarmed," he added, checking the gun's safety and then sliding it into his waistband at the small of his back.

Neal handed the blazer back, satisfied. _He could lift the gun easily from there as long as Peter went in first…_

They headed back toward the building. Neal made sure to get there first so he could hold the door open for Peter. "Just down this hall and then to the right," he said, gesturing for Peter to go ahead.

_And if he just happened to bump into Peter shortly after, well, it was dark in the corridor… and the gun fit nicely into the empty electrical box he'd noted earlier._

Neal fell back a couple of steps again as they neared the corner. It was still dark, but all of a sudden the lights came on bright. Peter flinched, a hand reaching back for his gun.

Feeling slightly guilty, but also relieved that this part was almost over, Neal stepped up and gave Peter a firm push in the back.

"Surprise!"

* * *

It was an hour or so later when Peter, fresh beer in hand, looked around the room and spotted his quarry. He was quite amazed at all of the people Elizabeth had gotten here – but there was one person he hadn't talked to yet.

Making his way across the room, he paused momentarily to talk to a couple of people, always keeping an eye on his target. And, finally, he got there.

"Neal."

"Peter."

Neal actually looked a little nervous, which wasn't something Peter saw very often. "So, I haven't seen Morrie Lewis yet."

"No? Maybe he snuck out another way."

"Maybe. Haven't seen much gambling going on either."

"Now I personally heard a bet being placed on a foosball game not ten minutes ago."

"Well, that's something to look into."

"Absolutely."

Peter paused for a drink of beer and then he leaned against the wall next to Neal. "You lied to me."

"Peter…"

"After telling me that you _never _lie to me."

"I really don't think this should count."

"Are you saying that you _didn't_ lie?"

Neal sighed, hesitating a moment. "I'm saying that there were extenuating circumstances, and I don't think this should be held against me."

"Extenuating circumstances?"

"Yes. Your wife _made_ me do this, Peter!"

"My wife _made_ you do it. And how does that work, Neal? Was it a gun, a knife, what?"

"Worse. It was _Elizabeth._" Neal turned slightly to face him. "Peter, how many times have you successfully said no to your wife when she really wanted something?"

Peter considered that for a moment before answering. "Not often," he admitted, giving that a small laugh. "All right, I'll let the lie slide this time."

"Thanks."

"But you know I hate surprise parties."

Neal's answering grin was a little unnerving. "Right. That's why you've been walking around with that huge smile on your face. Admit it, Peter, you're having a good time."

Peter considered a comeback along the lines of _'a good con never admits to anything'_ – but he knew he couldn't pull it off. Not this time. "It's all right," he allowed.

Neal just grinned and sipped his drink.

"Oh, speaking of guns," Peter said. "Mine seems to be missing."

"I'm sure it's in a safe place."

"If you're really sure…"

"I am. Peter, I really don't think having you accidentally shoot one of the guests was on Elizabeth's plan."

"No, doesn't really sound like something she'd go for." Peter paused, looking around again. "So, people are really gambling on the games, huh?"

"Apparently. Who knew that law-abiding citizens could be so devious?" And the grin on Neal's face now could certainly be described as _devious_ before he continued. "Are you up for a little wager yourself?"

Peter grinned too. "How much money do you want to lose?"

"Money? Peter, how common. I'm sure we can find something better than money."

Peter considered that for a moment. "Well, you're good with heights. I have some third-story windows that need cleaning."

It took all of his self-control not to laugh at the pained look on Neal's face. "Windows? Seriously, Peter?"

"That's my ante. What's your counter?"

It only took a moment of consideration before Neal had an answer. "There's a Renaissance exhibit opening at the Hilstrom next weekend. I want to go."

"The Hilstrom is outside your radius."

"Wouldn't be much of a prize if it was _inside _my radius."

Peter had to concede that point. "All right, my windows against your exhibit. What are you up for? Foosball? Air hockey? Maybe some bowling?"

Neal's arm came across his shoulder and Peter found himself being steered across the room. "Peter, how about a friendly game of billiards…"

* * *

**_A/N: Happy Birthday to Tim DeKay, June 12!_**


End file.
